Bit by Bite
by Manoa
Summary: Camille did not want a new life, she did not want new friends and she did not want to attract any unwanted attention. Unluckily for her, she gets stuck in a pattern that is out of her control. Oh, and did she mention she's a witch?
1. Chapter 1 : Sleep Alone

Hello everyone!

I own nothing except the obvious OC characters.

Sit back, relax and most of all, enjoy.

A/N: Sorry for the repost, but I had this chapter beta'd by the amazing geekisthenewawsome (whom I thank from the bottom of my heart). Don't worry, chapter 2 will soon follow!

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><p><strong>Bit by Bite<strong>

**Chapter 1: Sleep Alone**

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><p>Camille was not happy. She was late for her first day at school, and as if that wasn't enough, her legal guardians had decided that today was a good day to lecture her into "staying out of trouble". As if she didn't try already! Problem was, trouble usually found her anyway...<p>

And so, there she was in her little silver Peugeot, trying to find her way through the labyrinth from hell that was Beacon Hills. After one hour of driving and a lot of circling around, she finally found her new school, Beacon Hills High — they must have run out of original names. After searching for a few minutes, she finally found an empty space, and parked her car. She followed the stream of students going through the big gates of the building. Everybody was chatting happily about their summer and what a great time they had. She hated them already — who really cared what idiotic things they'd done during the summer, anyway?

Her beige and black bag on her shoulder, she braced herself for the worst and entered what was bound to be a year in purgatory. It seemed a pretty ordinary school with pretty ordinary adolescents. But as the phrase goes, appearances can be deceiving.

She checked the rumpled paper in her jeans pocket and went in search of Locker 369, but it was a good ten minutes later that she was finally opening said locker. While she was putting her books into it, two girls approached her. One was freakishly tall, with wavy brown hair and kind chocolate eyes. The other was a petite redhead with dark green eyes and rosy lipstick on her pouting mouth.

"Hi!" said the tall one, leaning on the locker beside her. "I've never seen you before, so you must be new. My name's Allison and this is Lydia."

She pointed at the smaller one, who retorted, "I can speak for myself, thank you. Anyway, is your bag Chanel?"

"Gosh, Lydia, you'll make her think we're shallow people. Who cares about her bag?"

"I do..." Lydia muttered, looking eagerly at the bag.

"Ignore her. She's really smart, actually; she just doesn't like other people to know."

"Well, thank you Allison, for completely ruining any element of surprise."

Camille was surprised, all right. So much, in fact, that she didn't believe a word of it. Then again, she didn't really care either way.

"Last year, I was in your shoes," Allison continued as if Lydia hadn't said anything. "I know how much it sucks being the new girl, so if you need any help, don't hesitate.

"We can give you the tour if you want," she added. "Not much to see, though."

She smiled expectantly at Camille, who had yet to say a word in this one-sided conversation. Camille responded with a fake grin of her own.

"Thanks." The grin disappeared. "But no thanks."

She shut her locker with a resounding bang and walked away. As she walked away, she heard the redhead, what-was-her-name-again, huff: "What is her problem? I told you we needed to stop taking in strays."

Camille didn't hear Allison's answer because the bell rang loudly, covering the sounds of their conversation. She did not try to find her classroom, however — she headed straight outside. Nobody was around, which she was grateful for, so she went to find herself a nice remote spot to smoke. She stopped behind the bleachers of the school's stadium and sat down on the grass.

The first drag was heaven. The smoke cleared her head of all the shit that had happened and was happening in her life. Whoever had invented cigarettes was a saint. Pleasantly light-headed by the fog invading her brain, she raised her eyes to the sky and stopped thinking altogether. Well, at least she tried.

Unfortunately for her, fate did not like to leave her alone for long and her little moment of peace was soon interrupted.

"Excuse me? You know you're not allowed to smoke on school grounds?"

It was a male voice. Camille looked at him, taking her time. He was rather tall and athletic-looking, with an olive skin, a mop of dark hair and muddy brown eyes. And he was also a werewolf. The vibe was tenuous, hidden under the good-guy exterior, but there was no mistaking the danger lurking underneath.

"No kidding," she said, getting up. She lit up another cigarette and inhaled deeply.

He looked uncomfortable, not sure of what he was supposed to do. It was kind of cute.

"You must be Camille. Our teacher, Mr. Tanner, asked me to find you. I'm Scott, by the way."

Camille approached him, coming very close. He looked more like a deer being ambushed than a big bad predator.

"And you always do as you're told, like the good little wolf that you are, right?"

"What did you just say?"

"Woof!" She barked at his face. "Do you understand this language better?"

"You must be mistaken," he faltered, trying to back away. "I'm not what you think I am."

"Really?" She extinguished her cigarette on his shoulder, making a tiny hole on his T-shirt and producing a startled cry from Scott.

"What the hell?" he shouted, his eyes yellowing.

"Don't be a baby. It'll heal. See you around, pup."

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><p>When Camille entered the classroom, every seat was already taken, except for one in the back and one by the window. Every head turned her way as she entered the room and proceeded to examine her thoroughly. Contrastingly, the English teacher, Mr. Tanner, looked at her without the remotest bit of interest.<p>

"You must be…" He consulted his list. "Camille Masurel. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's me," she answered.

"Where are you from, exactly?"

"Paris, France."

"Oh really?" He was getting interested now, which was _not_ a good thing. "Are you an exchange student?"

"No."

"Why are you here, then?"

"Because I moved."

She was expecting him to ask why, but he seemed content with his Twenty Questions and motioned her to the two available seats. She took the one beside the window so she could look outside if and when she was bored. Only seconds later, Scott appeared in the classroom.

"Well, Mr. McCall, it seemed she beat you to it, since she was here before you. Try to be a little more useful next time."

Scott threw him a dark look that Mr. Tanner completely ignored. He sat in front of an ordinary-looking guy with a flat-top haircut, who immediately assaulted the werewolf with whispers. Scott furiously whispered back. Camille's guess was that they were probably talking about her, which was easily confirmed when they both turned to look at her. Scott was looking quite miffed while the other appeared only slightly curious.

She returned the stare, not backing down. When both finally looked away, she resumed listening to the lesson. Mr. Tanner was talking about a famous French poet named Baudelaire, whose works she knew almost by heart, so she tuned him out and looked out the window instead.

Once though, he addressed her directly.

"Miss Masurel, could you tell me your thoughts on this particular poem?"

He was testing her. He'd probably noticed that she wasn't paying attention. Fortunately for her, she knew the poem that he was referring to.

"_L'albatros_ is one of Baudelaire's most famous poems. It's about a white albatross, which ends up on a boat and cannot fly off. Sailors make fun of it because he is ridiculous on the ground, his wings are too big for him and his legs are not made for walking. But when he's in the sky, he's the mightiest of all. Baudelaire is referring to the fact that most people do not appreciate beauty or do not understand it and that they usually mock what they do not understand."

The silent after her little speech was deafening. Mr. Tanner cleared his throat.

"Yes, well. That is a correct analysis. Anyone else?"

He did not bother her any more after that.

After English, she had Biology, which was not exactly her favorite subject. But she went anyway, because skipping school on the first day was not a good idea (not counting her little slip outside earlier). She took an empty seat and prayed to any god who was watching that she looked intimidating enough to prevent any unwanted neighbors.

However, as she should really already have known, God apparently hated her.

It was Scott's friend. The one with the flat-top hair and the malicious smile. He introduced himself almost immediately.

"Hello, you're Camille right? Well, of course you are — you're the only new person around here, after all. You're French, aren't you? My name's Stiles, by the way."

Did the boy breathe?

"Is it?" Camille answered with a small secretive smile.

He looked really startled for a second but, to his credit, he recovered quickly.

"I'd tell you my real name but you wouldn't believe me, trust me. Stiles is much more convenient. So... how did you know that Scott is a you-know-what?"

He cut to the chase pretty quickly.

"I just know things. Like the fact that your real name is..."

He quickly put a hand over her mouth and hissed, "You better not say it out loud or I'll..."

"You'll what?" she asked, removing the troublesome appendage.

"Well... I don't know yet, but it won't be pleasant," Stiles warned in his best scary tone (which was not frightening in the least). "So, back to business. Why did you move here?

"None of your fucking business."

Okay, so maybe she was being kind of harsh, but the boy's persistence was getting on her nerves.

"Calm down, oh angry woman. I was just asking out of curiosity. No need to take offense."

"I would greatly appreciate it if you people just left me alone."

"Sorry, you're out of luck. This is a town of few distractions (though it has its moments, I must admit), so we make do with what we have. Are you really French? You don't have any accent at all."

"I went to an international school." She did not know why she answered, maybe just so he would be satisfied and stop asking so many damned questions. He was worse than a cop.

"Really? I didn't know those existed. Is Paris a cool city? I heard it was."

"Better than here, anyway."

"So why did you move?"

This time, she remained silent.

"Okay fine. I'll stop asking."

"There is a god!" she replied sarcastically.

A female with long blond hair in a ponytail and a very well-fitting black suit entered the room then, thankfully interrupted them. She smiled sweetly and went to write on the blackboard.

"Hello, my name is Meredith Grayson and I'm your new Biology teacher. I know that lots of you don't like this course, but I'll do my best to make it enjoyable."

She sounded and looked like a porn star. Stiles was practically drooling.

"Watch the dribble," Camille sneered.

"Yeah, okay." He was definitely mesmerized.

She shrugged. She had tried to prevent him from making a fool out of himself, hadn't she? Like first period, she distractedly listened to the lecture. Apparently, they were going to start with dissecting frogs.

"Do you want me to do it? I know girls can be squeamish about intestines and stuff." Stiles asked, once he had collected his wits.

"Not this girl," she said. "A little blood doesn't freak me out." She had seen her share of blood before, after all. Camille tried to block the memories flashing before her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Stiles inquired with a concerned expression.

"Why would I not be?"

"You tell me. You were the one with the scary-looking hollow stare."

"Don't we have a frog to dissect?"

"Sure, change the subject. You're not really good at hiding stuff, you know?"

"Whatever. Let's get this thing done already."

The hour passed by rather quickly. Camille was reluctantly growing fond of the spirited character that was Stiles. He was just plain fun to be with and he did not seem to mind her being mean and sarcastic. In fact, he seemed to like it because, quote: "he was sarcasm incarnated". Still, when the class ended, she didn't wait for him, even though he shouted after her.

It was lunchtime so she went to the cafeteria. Now, if people would leave her alone for once, that would be just peachy.

Seconds after she started eating her salad, the sound of two trays broke into her sweet alone time: Stiles and Scott. She cursed silently and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

"You can try to ignore us," Stiles began, "but you know, I'm a pretty hard guy to ignore. One, I talk too much. Two, I'm too funny for my own good. And look, I think I see a smile somewhere behind all that badass attitude."

"Shut up, you twit."

"That's the Camille I know and love."

"You don't even know me."

"I'm working on that. So… Scott here was scared shitless by your little accusation back on the sports arena. And you ruined his favorite shirt."

"Sue me."

"Maybe he will. Bad deeds should not go unpunished. Right Scott?"

"Hmm, yeah." Scott was clearly not a very talkative guy. A man after her own heart.

"Anyway, you still didn't answer my question about how you knew about his... _condition_."

"And I won't, so just leave it at that."

"You know his darkest secret, and mine too, might I add. Don't you think it's fair that we know yours in turn?"

"Who ever said life was fair? If it was, you wouldn't be sitting there annoying me."

"Just leave her alone, Stiles," Scott tried to pacify his friend. "It's obvious that she doesn't want to talk about it. As long as she keeps it to herself, I'm cool with it." Camille looked at Scott with what could be mistaken for gratitude.

Stiles, however, still looked conflicted. "But, doesn't the not knowing frustrate you?"

"Not really." Scott shrugged. She really could get used to this one, even if he _was_ a werewolf.

As she was trying to continue eating while vaguely listening to Stiles' antics, Camille sensed a pretty threatening vibe from behind her. She turned around and saw another werewolf. He was rather handsome, but his face was twisted by rage and envy. He was also looking at Scott.

She raised an eyebrow at the latter. "What's his deal?" she asked.

He looked unsure about what to tell her. "This is Jackson. He's kind of mad at me."

"Yeah, I figured. But why? Territorial issues?"

"Something like that." He did not even seem surprised that she knew Jackson was a werewolf.

"He's newly bitten and he thought being a werewolf was all fun and games. Turn out his maker is pretty high-maintenance and he has to do all the dirty work."

"And you?"

"Well, Derek and I have an agreement. I saved his life and helped him get revenge. He destroyed any chance I had of being normal. So he pretty much owes me."

There was a story behind this, she guessed, but she didn't ask. That wasn't her concern.

"There you are, guys." Allison and Lydia, the two girls who tried to talk to her in the morning, sat down at their table. Camille really needed to check if she was cursed or something. Was it a rite of passage to be constantly persecuted on your first day? She so did not deserve this crap.

"And there _you_ are," Lydia said with undisguised contempt. "What is _she_ doing here?"

"Lydia, don't be mean." That was Allison.

"Are you her mother or what? You keep telling her what to do," Camille observed.

"Camille, don't be_ mean_." It was Stiles this time, imitating a girl's voice.

Everybody laughed. She was screwed.

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><p>When she finally got out of school and out of friendship's claws, Camille was exhausted. Staying away from people was much harder than it appeared, especially when these people were named Stiles, Allison and Scott. She didn't count Lydia because the girl obviously hated her guts, and Camille had given her every reason to. Lydia's reaction was the normal one. No, the weird ones were the other three who kept trying to get into her head. They were nothing if not persistent.<p>

If she had to be honest with herself, (which she would not, because that would lead to dangerous ground), they were great friends. Fiercely loyal, even Lydia, who seemed like a total bitch otherwise. They stuck to each other like glue. And as illogical as it seemed, they appeared to want to include her into their little circle.

Once she was near her house, she pulled over and got out of her car. It was like any other house, though maybe a little bigger. The garden was well groomed, because her uncle was a neat freak and a passionate gardener. _How_ someone could be passionate about gardening, she had no clue, but whatever. Her uncle's boyfriend was an interior decorator, so the house had pretty nice furniture.

She liked her room, despite hating the house – well maybe less the house and more her situation. It was a huge room with a king-sized bed. The paint on the wall was deep red on one wall and light gray on the others. It created a nice contrast. Plus, she had a really big iMac and an immense bathroom, with a bathtub the size of a small pool. If she had had another life, she would have reveled in this lifestyle.

Nobody was home yet, so Camille quickly changed into her jogging suit. There was a forest nearby; she had passed through it while getting lost this morning. As soon as she was outside, she started running.

It felt good. She hadn't done jogging in a while, so she was a little rusty, but she grew used to the pain in her legs until she felt satisfyingly numb. She could run like this forever. The only sound around her was the wind ruffling through the leaves, her footsteps and her heavy breathing.

And suddenly, someone else was there. She stopped at once. She sensed a fierce aura coming towards her. He appeared from behind a tree.

He was strikingly handsome, with pale skin, dark hair and piercing grey eyes. And he was also a werewolf. Was there some werewolf convention in this town that she wasn't aware of? However, he didn't seem like Scott or even Jackson. He was much more dangerous.

"You should not be running alone in these woods, girl," he said in a deep, low voice.

"I don't take kindly to people telling me what to do," she replied.

There was a moment of silence, then, "This is private territory. If you don't want me to call the police next time, don't come around here again."

"Is there a sign anywhere that can prove that? Didn't see any, sorry. Until then…" Camille turned around and even managed to make it a few steps before he was in front of her in a flash. He growled.

"You will not come here again, is that understood?"

"No, sorry. Could you repeat that, please? I have trouble speaking werewolf. I know it's, like, mandatory here, since everyone I meet seems to be one, but hey, I'm new, so I have an excuse."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. Do not test the irate werewolf. But since when had she ever taken her own advice?

"Who are you?" he asked, actually taking a _sniff_ at her. Gross.

"Let's just say I can take care of myself."

The wind grew stronger then, and leaves twirled wildly around them. The werewolf's eyes widened a little. "Witch," he whispered, as if in awe.

"Bingo, you won the lottery. Now let me pass before I fry your hairy ass."

And he did.

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><p>Well, I hope it was to your liking. Don't forget to review, I love hearing feedback!<p>

Next chapter: someone is missing.


	2. Chapter 2 : Strange and Beautiful

Welcome back to Beacon Hills!

I can't believe how fast I'm writing this story. Ideas keep poping up! What started as a simple romance story is actually getting way more complicated.

This chapter is a little shorter than the first, but things are starting to take shape.

I almost forgot: I own nothing.

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><p><strong>Bit by Bite<strong>

**Chapter 2 : Strange and Beautiful**

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><p>"Camille!" her uncle shouted from the kitchen, "You're going to be late for school!"<p>

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming!" she shouted back.

She was a little grumpy. Needless to say, she was not a morning person, and having to wake up at 7 could take a lot out of her. Not that she was a ray of sunshine on any given day.

She brushed the dark mess that was her hair first thing in the morning and applied some mascara to her eyelashes. She put on her favorite leather jacket, grabbed her bag and was ready to go.

Once in the kitchen, her uncle Nicolas bombarded her with questions. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? You didn't tell us anything about your first day. You know it's important for us that you feel comfortable. Given your situation back home, we want to make sure the same won't happen here."

Camille looked into his deep blue eyes — a family trait — and responded, "Rest assured, Uncle Nicolas, I promise not to kill anyone."

He started. His boyfriend Jack put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You know that wasn't what he was trying to say, so don't take it that way," he told Camille.

Jack was nothing like her uncle. Where Nicolas was effeminate and hyper, Jack had a calmness about him that commended respect, even for someone who was nearly allergic to authority such as herself. Maybe it was his height — he towered over almost everyone — or his low voice that never rose, no matter the circumstances. He could have been confronted with a serial killer and still not lose his cool.

"I just meant that I'm doing my best to stay out of trouble so you don't have to worry over me, okay? I'm grateful for what you did, taking me in and all, but you're not my parents."

Nicolas looked crestfallen, like she had broken his brand new Barbie. She felt a little pang of remorse. They had been nothing but kind to her, but it was in her nature not to get attached and to keep distances. Even if it was family. All the more if it was family. Sébastien was proof of that.

"We do not presume to be," Jack replied, "But living under our roof implies certain rules. We've talked about that, remember?"

"I remember. Now, can I go please? I'm gonna be late."

"Eat something, at least." Nicolas could not stay mad or sad or anything for too long. He was back to mother hen mode. Camille took a piece of bread and a sip from her orange juice.

"There. All good. See you!"

It was 8:05 am when she arrived at school. She had P.E., so she went directly to the locker room. Luckily, people were still changing into their sports attire. Allison and Lydia were there, and the former waved enthusiastically at her while the latter sent her a death stare. She replied to both by completely ignoring them.. She had failed yesterday to make it clear she did not want company. It was high time she set things straight.

Allison looked a little hurt. She steadily ignored the feeling of guilt that threatened to emerge. What was with her today? She usually didn't care so much about hurting people, especially those she had just met.

As the coach informed them once they were on the field, today was about running and building up stamina. Well, the day was suddenly getting better.

While the girls were running in circles around the field, the guys were playing a game named "lacrosse" that she had never heard of before, even though the name was obviously French. She spotted Scott, Stiles and that dude Jackson who was always angry. Wasn't it cheating to play sports when you were a werewolf? They'd be stronger and faster than anybody else on the field. And there was the risk of changing right in front of everybody. Most werewolves had some anger management issues and the wrong thing could tick them off quite easily.

"Looking good there, Camille. Cool tattoos, by the way." It was Stiles in his lacrosse uniform, trying to keep up with her. He pointed to the Celtic tattoos drawn around both her wrists.

"And you're looking quite ridiculous, but I don't feel the need to point that out. So next time, please restrain yourself from making useless comments."

"Always feeling the need to hurt, that's a bad habit for a girl to have. Guess what? I had the most interesting phone call last night."

"And I'm so not interested right now."

"Well, you're gonna hear about it anyway, because it was about you. Apparently, you had quite the encounter with Derek yesterday."

"Who's Derek?" Camille asked, but she had a pretty good idea who he was referring to.

"An Alpha werewolf. Ring any bells?"

"Nope," she lied.

"Right…. He had the most interesting theory about you being a witch. Care to elaborate?"

"Aren't you supposed to be playing with your team?"

"They won't even notice that I'm gone, trust me. And no changing the subject. Are you really a witch? Is that your dark secret? Because you know we don't care, right? I mean, look at our little group. Scott's a werewolf and Allison's from a family of hunters, so we can't exactly judge."

She stopped. "What did you just say?"

"What do you mean? That we don't care about you being…"

"No," she interrupted him, "About Allison."

"Ah, yes, you probably didn't know that. Her family is like this big hunter family. They go after werewolves, making sure they don't kill anyone. And if they do, well…." He made a gesture of a head being cut off.

"Who else did this Derek tell?" She was dead serious.

"Whoah, you're starting to scare me here. No one, I guess, except me and Scott."

"So Allison doesn't know?"

"Not yet. But knowing Scott, it won't be long until he tells her. This guy can't keep a secret from Allison at all. In his defense, it didn't exactly work out well the last time he tried."

Camille took him by the collar and suddenly, the air crackled with a sudden charge of energy. "Scott will _not_ tell anyone else, especially Allison. Or _I'll_ rip _his_ head off."

It seemed as if her voice was ten times stronger, but only in Stiles' head. Camille turned around and went back to running, not looking back.

"I think I just pissed myself," Stiles muttered.

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><p>Camille was not eating lunch. She was enjoying a cigarette in the little spot she had found yesterday morning, behind the bleachers. She could not deal with the fearsome quartet right now.<p>

Allison was from a family of hunters. Well, that was atrociously bad news. She had come all this way to escape them (among others), just to fall right back into their clutches. She didn't think that she was in any immediate danger. Allison was dating a werewolf, was she not? Camille had seen the both of them kiss at lunch yesterday, so she'd been pretty sure, and Stiles' comment confirmed it. Either Allison's family didn't know, or they were decent enough not to judge a book by its cover. That was enough to reassure her.

She was interrupted by a loud male voice. Apparently, it was now common knowledge that she liked to hang out alone in this area. News travelled fast in this town.

"Derek wants to see you," the angry-faced Jackson informed her.

"What?" She wasn't feigning the surprise. Sure, he had talked to Stiles about her being a witch, but she didn't exactly expect him to call on her anytime soon.

"Derek wants to see you," Jackson repeated, getting angrier still.

"I heard you the first time. I just wanted to make sure it wasn't a joke."

"It's not. He asked me to tell you to come to this address, tonight at 10." He handed her a little paper with something written on it. Camille took it and placed it carefully in the palm of her hand.

"Well, you can tell Derek…" The little paper went up in flames. "...that I cordially refuse." She blew the ashes in his direction.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. But he was scared too. She could sense the acrid taste of fear behind the anger. This boy was just plain terrified.

But he hid it pretty well and soon, he was growling and changing into werewolf mode. However, before he could pounce on her, something pounced on him. It was hero Scott to the rescue, his sidekick Stiles in tow.

"Jackson!" Scott grunted. "You're not supposed to change at school! You could have hurt her." Was the boy blind? Jackson was obviously planning on doing exactly that.

"Yeah, Jackson. I know Camille can be a little frustrating sometimes, but that's no excuse to attack her," Stiles commented.

"But she…" Jackson tried to say, his transformation rapidly vanishing.

"She nothing," Scott said, still gripping his arms. "I don't know what Derek's been teaching you, but we don't just attack people for no reason. Now, go back to the cafeteria before I seriously hurt _you_."

"Yeah, run back to your master with your tail between your legs," Camille could not help but say. Scott's grip was the only thing that prevented Jackson from _really_ killing her this time.

Stiles sighed. "You're not really helping, Camille."

"Wasn't trying to."

"If it makes you feel better, Jackson, she's like that with everybody," Scott told the other boy.

"Hey, I'm hurt." Camille faked a stab in the heart. "Well, it's been fun and all, guys. But you people need to get a life and stop sticking your noses in mine. On that note, see you never."

She left them all looking at her retreating back.

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><p>During the rest of the day, Camille managed to avoid interaction with any of the five people she wanted to avoid, so she was pretty pleased with herself. History class was a drag, though, because they were all in it and the tension in the room was palpable, at least for her. Scott must have told Allison already because she kept throwing her looks that seemed somewhere between really curious and a little freaked. She had to remind herself to rip Scott's head off the next time she was alone with the werewolf. And Stiles' too. Just because.<p>

Thankfully, Nicolas and Jack had recovered from their clash at the breakfast table and were rather pleasant at dinner. The great thing about the two of them was that they were never overbearing; she could do almost anything as long as she warned them beforehand. Hell, she could even throw a party if she wanted to, and they'd be perfectly okay with that. Not that she would. Ever.

Camille was smoking on her balcony, admiring the stars, when he landed next to her. She didn't jump in surprise — she had sensed him a while ago.

She turned towards Derek. "How nice of you to drop by."

"You refused my invitation." Mr. Alpha werewolf was not happy. And he needed to learn some manners.

"Was it an invitation? I was more under the impression that it was an order. And I told you already that I don't do well with orders."

That seemed to pacify him somehow. "Maybe you're right. I could have been more polite about it."

"You're making progress. Maybe next time, you'll even say hello."

"Are you always like that?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"On the defensive."

"Always."

Derek hesitated. He must have something important to tell her if he had taken the time to come see her himself.

"Spill it already," Camille said, sick of all the beating around the bush.

"I need your help," he finally confessed. He looked like he was having trouble forcing the words to come out of his mouth. He didn't really seem like the type of guy who would usually ask that of anyone.

"Reaaally? Do I look like Mother Theresa? Who said I'd be inclined to help you?"

"Because you wouldn't be helping me. You'd be helping a little girl who's been missing for two days."

Okay, he had her. She wasn't heartless, despite appearances. "Who is she?"

"Kiara is the daughter of two werewolves who have been in my pack for a couple of months now. She's 9. She went outside to play with some friends last Sunday, and she never came home. Normally, I'd ask the police, but it's not exactly your usual type of missing-child case. I'm pretty sure she's been kidnapped by hunters."

The memories teetered, threatening to crash down and overwhelm her. Camille blocked them out, with some effort.

"What makes you think that's the case?"

"Apart from us being werewolves, you mean?"

"Hunters have some kind of code. They can't touch children, even if they have werewolves for parents."

"They have been known to break that code on some occasions." Was the despair she saw in his eyes the same she felt deep inside her heart?

"Will you help me find her, then?" he reiterated.

She could not deny his hopeful look, not when she was thinking of that little girl, chained up somewhere in a dark, dark place, crying and all alone.

"Fine, but we can't do it here. My guardians would freak out if they saw me with you. I'll need some personal item of hers, and a map, too, for the spell."

"We can do it at my place. Nobody will bother us there."

"Let me grab some stuff first."

While she was getting her jacket and the crystal she kept in her nightstand, Camille made an intense effort to compose herself. She was over this. It had been a long time ago. Maybe it was just a case of psycho-pedophile and nothing to do with hunters going rogue. For her sake, and for the child's, she hoped that was the case. Pedophiles did not have magic repellers.

She returned outside where Derek was patiently waiting for her. She looked down the balcony and said, "You'll have to carry me down; I can't exactly jump from this height. And my uncle is pretty cool, but not so cool that he'd let me go out at this hour."

Derek did not seem pleased with the idea. His expression of distaste was enough to offend even her. A little.

"Aren't witches supposed to fly?" he asked with a little touch of humor.

"Oh yes, I'll just take my broom and fly off to the moon." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Come on. I'll promise not to sexually harass you."

She thought she saw a flicker of a smile but did not have the time to dwell on it as he picked her up rather forcefully and jumped over the barrier. Once they were on the ground, he let her down rather too quickly for her taste.

Camille smiled a little. The man sure had muscles.

"Well, let's go save the girl, cowboy."

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><p>Thank you for all the support and the reviews. Keep them coming ^^<p>

Next chapter: some magic is seen.


	3. Chapter 3 : Looking through the glass

Hey guys! No, you're not dreaming, I'm really back after a few months of total silence. What can I say? University, internship, life. Okay fine, I've been kidnapped by aliens! But I'm back now! And I suddenly felt the need to continue this story.

(Attention spoiler ahead: do not read if you haven't seen season 2!)

Maybe it's because I saw season 2 of TW and I absolutely adored it! I mean, every episode was like an electric shock and not at all what I expected. Lots of Derek getting beaten up, but well, he looks good anyway so all forgiven. I did not forgive Stiles getting hit by Grandpa Argent though. Glad he vomited black goo in the end. Serves him right.

Anyway, my story still follows the season 1 plotline, can't change anything now that I've started this way. So I hope you'll still like it.

By the way, I'm looking for a beta-reader so if anyone is up for the task, please PM me :). And please forgive my bad grammar in the meantime!

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><p><strong>Bit by bite<strong>

**Chapter 3: Looking through the glass  
><strong>

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><p>The drive to Derek's home was mostly silent. After looking out the window for some time, Camille became quite sick of it. Usually, she enjoyed silent. But the combination of being in a tiny sport car with an alpha werewolf was a little overwhelming. She tried turning on the radio, but one look from Derek stilled her hand.<p>

She didn't hesitate for long though and pushed the button, grinning from ear to ear. Music blasted in the car. It was the sound of Guns n' Roses, "Welcome to the jungle". Derek turned it off. She turned it back on.

Camille saw him sigh deeply, as if reigning in his frustration. But he didn't cut the music off.

She observed his profile thoughtfully. He was undeniably extremely good-looking, although not her type at all. She already had had her share of silent brooding guys and suffices to say, it didn't end well. Besides, she had already sworn to herself that dating was out of the question this year. It usually brought nothing but trouble, and she had enough on her own not to add oil to the fire with unsought boy issues.

Still, nobody said she couldn't enjoy the view.

"Do you need anything?" Derek asked, looking at her sideways.

"Nope," Camille said, smiling a little.

"Are you sure? Because you're looking at me quite intensely."

"So?"

"So nothing. Just wondering."

"Well, keep on doing that."

Camille saw his jaw tense a little. She was being quite frustrating, she knew. But she couldn't help herself. Teasing him was fun. And she had the slight advantage that he needed her help and not the other way around.

They were in the woods now, on a small uneven road. The night was dark as ink, the moon hidden by clouds. They came up to a big mansion; two cars were parked in front of it.

"We're here," said Derek.

"I figured,' Camille responded sarcastically.

He didn't bother commenting and went out of the car. She followed him into the house and into the living room. It looked newly repaint, with brand new furniture, but the ceiling showed traces of blackened wood, as if it had been severely burned.

Four people were in the room. A couple sat on a sofa, the woman burying her face into her hands, while the man patted her back, a black giant with his arms crossed leaning on a wall and… Jackson, sitting on a chair and staring daggers at her. Seriously, what was his problem?

"So this is your pack?" Camille asked.

"Yes," Derek answered, "For now. But I plan on extending it. You already know Jackson, I presume."

Camille smiled sweetly at Jackson who frowned. "Maybe you should reconsider your recruitment skills."

"This is Amy and Nelson, Kiara's parents." He pointed at the couple, completely ignoring her comment, then at the other guy. "And this is Killer."

"Excuse me?"

"Before you ask, yes, that's his real name."

Killer's smile was evil, pure evil, and his eyes glowed yellow. There was no messing around with this one. He really looked like a killer machine. How come _he _wasn't the alpha, she had no idea.

"Will you really help us find our daughter?" Amy asked, looking at her, tears still flowing.

"Nothing is certain, but I'll do my best," Camille said formally. She had a soft spot for crying mothers, so what?

"Are you sure she can do it?" Jackson asked doubtfully.

"I'm capable of kicking your ass, if that's what you mean," Camille answered back.

"No fighting. We running out of time." For once, she didn't correct Derek on politeness and giving orders. Mainly because he was right.

"Do you have a map and the personal item I asked for?"

"Amy?"

Amy got up and gave her a striped black and blue scarf. The woman was smaller than Camille, pretty for her age, even though the crying didn't do her justice. She looked like someone had torn open her guts and made her eat them back.

Camille knew the feeling. When she took the scarf, she squeezed Amy's hand a little.

"Don't worry. I'm really good at this," she tried to reassure her, which was not something she usually did.

Amy nodded. Hope was written all over her face. No pressure at all…

Her husband gave her the map next. Camille opened it on the ground. It was a map of California. She hoped it'd be enough.

"Turn off the lights and lit up some candles if you have some," Camille demanded.

"Is this a witch thing?" Jackson asked.

"No. It's a "me" thing, it helps me concentrate. Just do as you're told, okay?"

He got up and shouted angrily: "You can't give me orders!"

"Do as she says, Jackson," Derek growled. Needless to say he did.

Once everything was set up, she sat down cross-legged. She wrapped the scarf around her wrist and let her crystal necklace hang over the map.

"Now everyone just shut up and let me do my thing."

Silence met her. She closed her eyes and began focusing. Channeling the feeling of the scarf, the memory of the little girl that was printed into the fabric, she waited for the crystal to react and point a location.

She waited a long time. An hour later, she re-opened her eyes. Sweat was running down her forehead. Her wrists were killing her.

"I'm sorry, I can't find her," Camille finally proclaimed.

"What do you mean you can't find her?" Nelson exclaimed.

Everyone was looking at her with a myriad of emotions: agony, anger, worry and disappointment. Amy was the worst. She looked like she would crumble on the floor anytime soon.

"What I mean is that either she's dead, or there's something blocking my searching spell."

Amy fell on the ground. Her husband immediately came to support her. Both looked at her with reproachful eyes.

"Can't you do something to at least find out which one?" That was Derek.

He was the only one not looking at her like the failure that she was. He seemed to understand her harsh words. Better to prepare for the worse than be disappointed.

"No. I'm sorry but there's nothing else I can do."

Actually, there was. But she wouldn't, _couldn't_ do it no matter the circumstances. That was too dangerous. And it would bring back all the demons that she had fought so hard to keep at bay. The very reason behind her moving to the United States.

"I guess it can't be helped. Thank you for your time. I'll drive you back home." There was no place for argument in Derek's voice.

Camille would have liked to do something, anything to save that little girl that she didn't even know. That little girl who was so much like she once had been. Scared, alone, in danger. Or worse, dead. She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking really hard.

"Actually, I may know of a way to know for sure," she finally whispered.

She didn't like that, but if there was no other way…

"Tell me," Derek said.

"There's someone, someone I don't know personally. She was a friend of my grandmother and I think she lives in Los Angeles. She's a powerful witch. She may know something."

"It's only a few hours' drive."

"I have to warn you though. My gran and her, they didn't part on good terms. I'm not sure if she'd be willing to help at all."

"It's worth a shot."

"Well, I guess it's settled then. But not tonight. I promised my uncle I'd behave, so I can't go on road trips in the middle of the night without giving him any warning. Pick me up after school tomorrow? I'll just tell him I'm meeting a friend in LA."

"He will accept that?"

"We'll see, but I don't think he will cause too much trouble."

"Fine."

"Thank you," Amy interrupted, "Thank you for doing that. I know it's a long shot, and you don't know us. You don't have any obligations towards us. So thank you."

"I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it for Kiara."

"Thank you anyway."

Camille nodded. What kind of a mess was she getting into?

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><p>Later, when she was back in her room and looking at the mirror, the brunette regretted her decision. Her skin was deathly pale and she had bags under her eyes. She looked at her hands. The tattoos were a series of symbols, intricately drawn together. They covered her wrists like bracelets. These binders were here for a reason. Without them, she was naked, vulnerable.<p>

Camille looked into her reflection. The dark hair, the blue eyes. She looked so much like him. It was eerie. Well, he was her twin brother after all...

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><p>Well, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it. I actually had another version for this chapter, but I didn't like it.<p>

Another thing, about the werewolf's eyes thing. My theory is that blue is for werewolves who were born as such, yellow for those who were bitten and red for the alphas. Even though we all saw Jackson's eyes turn blue in the season finale, I'll stick to my theory thank you very much!

Thanks again for all the reviews! About the one who said that my character is a Mary Sue, well everybody is entitled to his/her own opinion. But food for thought, aren't nearly all characters in supernatural movies/TV shows/books Mary Sues? And if you criticize something, at least have some arguments to back it up.

See you guys soon (maybe :p)!


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